Winter's Awakening
by Fae Faythe
Summary: Winter's never been a "normal" girl. Not with her stunning powers of observation, but especially not when she's targeted by a demon. But it's her differences that might keep her alive when she meets up with the Winchester brothers
1. Chapter 1

The girl walked into the butcher shop with a small leather-bound book in her hand, as casually as if she were strolling into her own home.

"Hello," she said quietly to the butcher across the counter.

"Kid," the huge man wearing a bloody apron said. "You want to get out of here." His eyes flicked nervously to the two men in the back of the shop, all of whom were glaring at the girl suspiciously.

"I do? Funny, I thought I was here to get some meat."

"No," a man with a deep voice said, coming up behind her. "You want to leave, little girl." The girl cocked her head curiously as the man lifted up the hem of his shirt, revealing the handle of a gun poking out of his waistband.

"You people sure like telling me what I want to do. But, how about this? How about I tell you something a little more interesting? See, what I want to do is boring – I can do whatever I want – but what I know; that's a whole different matter, now isn't it?" The girl flicked her long, feather-light hair over her shoulder, a flash of black blinking beneath the silver-blonde. "I know that that gun is a .50 cal semi-automatic pistol, also known as IMI Desert Eagle, capable of firing nine, eight, or seven rounds, depending on the type of bullet and whether or not the trigger sticks. They do have an annoying tendency to stick, you know."

"You know what else is annoying? Having some punk-ass kid come in here and not listen to what I say? So here's the deal, bitch, you're going to march yourself right out of that door and never come back, or I'll shoot you dead right now. Your choice." The man took out his gun, waving it threateningly in her face. The girl raised a delicate silvery eyebrow at the threat, giving a tiny sigh.

"No you won't. You talk tough, but you won't shoot me because I'm a child. And I know that because you had a brother, a brother who is now dead, but you still think about him." The gangster – the girl knew he was a gangster – stopped dead while his companion watched in stunned silence. There was something unnerving about the girl, something creepy about how dead-on she was. And she knew it too. She knew that she was right. "Oh, right and I almost forgot. Your mother? She's fully aware of your little side business, now that she's been told – and the _shame!_ She was so upset, I thought the news might just kill her."

"Alright, bitch, who's been feeding you this intel?" the man who'd been sitting stood abruptly, taking out his own gun.

"And you must be the man in the mask," the girl said, turning towards him and clapping her hands in delight. "See, I've been looking for you for a while and I've got to give you credit, you're a hard man to find. So you're the man running the show? These two are only hired muscle, am I right?"

"What of it? And who are you?" he demanded, taking aim. "Why shouldn't I shoot you right now?"

"Because you're curious and I'm no one. Can you just tell me? Am I right? I was right, wasn't I? You're the leader of the Santiago drug cartel."

"Yeah, I am. And you are dead." The girl smirked.

"No I'm not," she said sweetly, abruptly snatching the gun out of the first man's hand and pointing it at Santiago. She smiled – a quirk of the lips, really – before pulling the trigger and sending a bullet into his shoulder, quickly followed by another into his thigh. Then the girl spun, taking the shot on Santiago's companion, the one with the ailing mother. Both men went down, howling with pain and the girl casually took out her phone, hitting speed-dial number three.

"Yes," she said into the receiver, sounding bored. "Yes. Yes, I ran off. No, I'm not going to say I'm sorry, do I sound like a twelve-year-old to you? Oh, just shut up for half a second, will you? Listen: yes, you're right down the road. Bye." The girl snapped her phone shut and looked at the two men writhing in pain at her feet.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy prison," the girl said pleasantly. "Oh," she said lightly, turning to the butcher and gesturing to a skinned boar that was hanging from the ceiling. "You might want to put that meat away before it spoils. Ta." The girl gave the butcher a small salute and strode out of the meat shop.

* * *

"Winter!" Mary Shepherd called up the stairs. "Agents Monroe and Smith here to see you."

"Send Monroe up," a light voice floated down the stairs. "Smith is a moron." Mary blew out a sigh and gestured Agent Monroe away.

"Agent Smith," she said, trying to play a gracious host. "Can I get you anything to drink? Please, sit down."

"Thank you very much. Water would be wonderful," Agent Smith said in a deep voice, settling himself on the overstuffed couch. As Mary bustled about in the kitchen, Smith had a chance to look around the living room. He'd never been to Winter's house before – never been to a debriefing. Monroe was his superior and had sworn him to secrecy, even from the rest of the Bureau. But as Agent Smith looked around the small, comfortable room he noticed no pictures her there. No keepsakes of hers. No young adult novels on the shelves. Nothing to even suggest that there was teenage girl living in the house. It didn't seem normal.

Then again, Winter wasn't the most normal of children.

"Now," Mary said from the kitchen. "I know that I'm not supposed to ask, but what has Winter got herself into now?"

"I'm sorry ma'am," Agent Smith replied gratefully accepting the glass of water, "but that's classified information." He paused, looking at the careworn woman. "But how are you, Ms. Shepherd, how are you dealing with all of this?"

"Honestly?" she said, practically collapsing into an armchair. "I'm at my wit's end. She's always been bright – too bright – but now I've got the FBI at my house almost weekly. No offense, you are all lovely gentlemen. And then she's always disappearing at night, showing up days later, covered in blood and God knows what else; not to mention the other day, I thought that I heard gunfire from her bedroom! I don't even know if I can call it that. More like a lair now, the way she keeps it all locked up and dark. Won't let me inside anymore, like she ever did before." Mary trailed off, her cheeks flushing. She shouldn't be complaining. But Agent Smith only shook his head. The girl was better than he'd given her credit for – for all her foster mother's observations, she didn't know the half of what Winter had been up to.

* * *

Agent Monroe knew where Winter's bedroom/office was. The last door at the end of the hall. Since she refused to come into the Bureau to be debriefed, he had to come to her. Monroe knocked three times on the door, waiting for the soft "Enter" to let himself in.

The room was dark – but it always was. The whole space was cluttered floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves filled with texts and blinking, beeping machinery. There had to be at least ten computers in there, all whirring and humming. Agent Monroe didn't even want to look at the other types of tech she had lying around – he knew that they were likely to be highly illegal and that wasn't an argument he wanted to have today.

The girl herself was sitting in the darkest corner of the room, her pale face and shining hair illuminated by the computer screen she was studying intently. Monroe made his way to the back of the room and stood at the desk with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for her to say something.

"Are you going to keep staring at me like that, or do you have something to say?" Agent Monroe was always surprised by the musical quality of Winter's voice, especially when everything about her screamed "cold and dead."

"Winter, you know that I'm here to debrief you," Agent Monroe said shortly. He had to deal with her, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Yes, yes, I do know that," she replied, not looking up from the computer screen. "You're starting to catch on. Oh, by the way, did you like the present I sent you?"

"The gun?"

"Oh course the gun," Winter sighed. "I'm not talking about a present for your anniversary, now am I? And I do hope you're taking Molly somewhere nice."

"How did you know about my anniversary?" Monroe demanded, though he knew that he should leave it alone. Having Winter explain her observations was always just as unnerving as when she made them out of the blue.

"You're wearing cologne," Winter said, still not looking at him. "One of the three most recommended for men for special occasions. Plus, you have a card for her in your jacket." For a moment, Monroe didn't know how to respond, but then Winter tossed him a plastic bag with something heavy and mental inside.

"The other gun. I wiped my prints from it."

"Winter!" Monroe started, seeking to reprimand her, but the girl but him off.

"You don't want your department to know about me, about how I'm solving cases and bagging baddies for you, so don't lecture me on what is and is not legal. Santiago is in jail and his cartel is shaken up. I've done my bit. Have a nice time with your wife." And just like that, Monroe had been dismissed. "Oh, and Monroe?" Winter said softly. Monroe turned to find her looking at him for the first time, her pale, ice-blue eyes boring into him, gleaming with a wickedly amused edge. "Have fun looking for the drugs. I'll call you when I find them."

Winter smiled as Monroe left the room, slamming the door behind him. He was so easy to annoy.

"Hello, my pretty girl," Winter cooed as a little black kitten jumped up onto the desk, purring. She scratched behind the kitten's ears affectionately then closed her laptop and picked up a small, leather-bound notebook, scribbling something in it before tucking the book into a pocket of her cargo pants. She rubbed behind the kitten's ears again, opening up a desk drawer, revealing a small black gun hidden under a sheaf of papers. Winter slammed the magazine into the hand grip, hearing the satisfying _click_ that told her it was loaded. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up." she told the cat with a smile, then threw open the window and escaped into the afternoon.

Winter made her way through the streets unnoticed. Downtown D.C was always busy and no one would pay much attention to a single girl walking alone through the streets. But Winter was cautious: she kept to the shadows, blending in perfectly with the dappled light in her ensemble of black and white: black cargo pants paired with a black-and-white-camo tank top. Her fair skin would always stand out, always did, but it was covered by a black leather jacket. But the tricky part was her hair. For some reason, people had an annoying tendency to notice a girl, not because she was alone or wearing all black, but because she had stunningly bright blonde hair that was so light it was almost colorless. So, Winter disguised it by twisting her hair up into a black bandanna, the dark under-layer covering the vibrant blonde until it was practically indistinguishable. But what was most important was what couldn't be seen: Winter's gun was tucked into the waistband of her pants, pressing against her spine, a heavy, comforting weight.

Winter quickly made her way through the streets until she was outside the center of the city, down by the pier. She had no idea how the FBI hadn't figured out where the drugs were coming in from. She'd known from the moment she'd walked into the butcher's shop and seen Santiago. After all, he and his men all smelled of smog and fish, a noxious combination that could only indicate the pier. But that wasn't enough to give her a location. The location came from the smoky, ashy residue that had come off of Santiago's thug's gun when she'd stolen it. An ashy residue that could only be the result of melting down metal. And the only machinery factory down by the pier had been defunct for years. So that's where she was headed.

Winter crept up to the side of the old warehouse, peeking into the window and smirking when she saw the five men in black unloading small plastic bags filled with white powder being unloaded from a truck parked in the middle of the warehouse. Winter smirked. Why were drug dealers so predictable all the time? It made finding them so _boring_. Winter slid her cell phone out of her pocket, pressing down on the speed dial number three when she felt something cold and hard on the back of her neck.

"Turn around," a cold voice ordered. Winter rolled her eyes, slipping her cell phone into her pocket. If Monroe didn't pick up she'd kill him.

"W – what are you doing?" she stammered, blue eyes wide and scared, their pale color conveying nothing but childish fear. "Y-you have a gun!"

"Very observant. You're coming with me." Winter didn't struggle as the man hauled her into the warehouse and slammed her roughly down into a chair. "So who are you, bitch?" the man growled, still pointing the gun at her. Winter's bottom lip trembled as she struggled to get out the words.

"I- I'm an art student, down at the A-art Institute." Winter said. "I'm supposed to be taking pictures of old buildings, you know, for an a-a-assignment." By now, Winter's arrival had attracted the attention of all the men in the warehouse and they crowded around her, looking eager. "I just thought th-that this was an abandoned factory – wait! Are those _drugs_?" Winter stressed the word, withholding a smirk when she saw the flash of anger in the man's eyes.

"Shut up!" he snarled.

"Oh, I don't think I want to." The transformation was instantaneous. Gone was the frightened art student, to be replaced by a sneering girl with cold, calculating eyes, eyes that had been so expressive and scared just a moment ago. Winter stood up abruptly, pulling out her gun and sending the chair clattering to the floor in one smooth movement. The man who'd brought her in reached for his own gun, but Winter surged forward like the tide, ripping it from his hands and turning the barrel towards him. "Funny," she smirked. "Would you look at that? Now I have two guns, and you have none. And don't bother blustering, I know the rest of you lot are unarmed as well. Stupid Santiago, sending unarmed men to package his drugs." Just as quickly as it had appeared, the sardonic smile vanished and Winter's face was a cruel mask. "Now you're all going to do what I say, or I start shooting. Yes?"

By the time Agent Monroe and the rest of the FBI showed up, Winter had vanished, leaving them to arrest the drug-runners that were just sitting there, waiting and tied up, their mouths duct-taped closed. Monroe moved closer, eying the words scrawled in black marker on the silver tape: _You're __welcome – W._

* * *

__**So what do y'all think? Please review! Also, you can read this story on Tumblr: .com - I'll be posting the chapters on both sites**

**Loves you all!**

**~Fae**


	2. Chapter 2

Winter was bored. Bored, bored, bored. There was nothing to _do._ It had been almost a week since the Santiago drug bust and the FBI hadn't caught that trails of any criminals running rampant in the DC area. And it didn't help matters much that Winter's experiments were driving her foster mother to distraction. Apparently a suburban home wasn't the ideal location to field-test a newly-developed explosive bullet, at least where Mary Shepherd was concerned.

Winter pressed her phone to her ear, sighing when she saw the called I.D. "What Monroe? And don't tell me that there's an emergency down at the Bureau, that didn't work last time, it won't work this time."

"Winter." Odd. Monroe sounded curiously serious. More than normal. Less exasperated, more desperate. "I don't care where you are, get off the streets. Don't go home, but get somewhere safe. Better yet, come to the Bureau so we can protect you."

"Is there some kind of bomb threat in the area?" Winter speculated. She knew that Monroe didn't give a damn about her personally, but the FBI needed her, so she had to be in some kind of immediate danger.

"There's a hit out on you. Nationwide. We haven't seen inter-gang cooperation this big in...well, ever."

"Oh, please, Monroe. Don't be stupid."

"Winter, this is not one of your games, this is not a test and this is not an experiment. What it _is_ is life or death. You need to get to somewhere safe. Now."

"Goodbye, Monroe. Have fun with your paranoia." Winter said, rolling her eyes and ending the call, despite Monroe's desperate protests. "Idiot," she murmured to herself, rubbing her temples.

"Maybe you shouldn't have disregarded his advice so quickly." Winter whipped around, gun in hand before she'd drawn a single breath.

"Maybe you should learn that I am a _very_ hard person to sneak up on." Winter replied coldly, her pale eyes flat and unyielding. "Which gang do you belong to? Not the drug cartel, because if I recall correctly, I put all of them in prison." The man looked at her curiously, his head slightly cocked to the side, as if he was thinking hard. He didn't _look_ menacing, but then again, neither did Winter, when she didn't want to.

"I don't think you'd know my gang," the man said with a dark smile. "We're kind of a "Hell's Angels" kind of group." Winter saw something flicker in his eyes and then she was shoved up against the wall by some kind of invisible force. All her breath released in a violent burst, but when she gasped, she could barely get any air. It was like a giant hand was pinning her to the bricks, constricting every muscle until she couldn't move an inch, let alone breathe deeply. "You're afraid, aren't you?" the man said silkily, sidling closer to her until their noses were almost touching. Winter didn't flinch, but stared defiantly back at him. Whatever this was, she could beat it. "Oh. You're _not_ afraid. How interesting." He sounded disappointed and mildly surprised, like her lack of fear was highly unlikely. "Can you tell me why?"

"Fear," Winter ground out, "is a weakness." Using all her strength, she rotated the hand that held her gun towards the man's midsection. Eyes tight with effort, Winter squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet spinning into the man's chest. The instant it hit, the pressure was released and Winter dropped to the street, spinning instinctively into a defensive position. The man put his hand to his chest, looking at the blood curiously.

"You shot me," he said benignly. "Now you're going to pay." The man's brown eyes seemed to grow larger, the pupils swallowing the iris until no other color remained. Whatever the man was, it sure as hell wasn't human. Without thinking, Winter shot again, this time twice in the head, three times in the chest, but that didn't stop the thing. It just kept coming, grinning eerily. Winter fired until she was out of bullets, backing up with each shot until she had no choice.

She ran.

* * *

Winter raced through the streets, not bothering to be discreet this time. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the thought of something supernatural walking the earth, but she'd just witnessed it. She needed to get back, she needed to get to her equipment and figure all of this out. It was impossible. But it was real.

Really impossible, then.

Too late, Winter realized that it was stupid to go home. If it was following her...

But those thoughts were pushed from her mind as Winter registered a massive heat spike. A house was burning, the flames already grasping at the sky.

Her house. Already there was a crowd forming around the burning building, but Winter wasn't looking at them; her attention was solely fixed on the dark figure _waving _at her from within the smoky window. Eyes sparking with anger, Winter elbowed her way through the throng of people before diving through the smoke and into the house.

"Mary!" she shouted, her voice already choked. "Mary!"

"Mary's not in right now," the sinister, giggling voice of the creature said from right behind her. Winter whirled, but by the time she looked, he had vanished. "Would you like to leave a message?" Winter spun again, and this time she caught him, leering at her – Mary's mutilated body thrown haphazardly across the couch behind him. "Oops," the man said, sneering when he caught Winter's eye before vanishing again. Winter didn't waste any time. She knew that she had to get out of here, and soon, and the fire was only getting bigger. She raced upstairs, throwing herself into her bedroom and slamming the door shut. The fire hadn't reached here yet – she had two minutes, maybe three. Winter grabbed her leather knapsack off of her bedpost and immediately stuffed her laptop into it, along with the four guns she had under her bed and the hunting knife that Winter always kept under her pillow. Smoke was starting to seep in through the doors. Winter was running out of time. Not bothering to be neat or efficient, Winter dumped her enormous cache of ammo into the knapsack, only stopping to load two of the guns and stick them into the waistband of her pants. A soft mewling caught her attention and Winter whipped around, spotting the kitten pawing at a wooden box hidden behind some books on her bookscase.

"Good girl," Winter praised, scooping up both the box and the kitten.

"Come out, come out!" The creature's voice was coming from outside her bedroom. Time was up.

"Come on, kitty, you have to follow me," Winter cooed, stuffing the box into her bag, throwing open the window and diving out without a second of hesitation. She knew that there was a tree branch right outside. In one movement, Winter latched onto the protruding branch and swung herself down to the ground. She didn't look back this time, just ran, leaving the burning house behind her.

Winter slipped through the streets, not stopping until she'd made it to the house for sale a few blocks over. Quickly picking the lock, she lifted the garage door open, revealing a gleaming black Harley hiding in the darkness, keys in the ignition, ready to go. Winter had known that she would have to leave some day. She'd prepared for everything.

Everything but being chased out of town by a supernatural something-or-other. But she couldn't worry about that now or Winter knew she'd drive herself insane. Mary was dead, the gangs were after here and so was the creature. D.C was too dangerous, even for her. She needed to get moving.

* * *

Winter rode through the night, refusing to take a break until she was well out of the way. With every mile placed between her and the creature, Winter's mind grew more and more frantic, rather than calmer. She had to figure it out – what it was, why it had attacked her, why it had killed Mary and burned down the house, everything. It was her nature; she couldn't fight the need to _know._ Finally, where she'd become so distracted she became a hazard on the road, Winter stopped in a tiny little town in West Virginia: Cedar Ridge it was called. Sleepy little place. A perfect town for Winter to crash until she could get this all figured out.

"How can I help you?" the clerk at the gas station asked, clearly less than pleased to be working at sunup. Winter didn't respond or look at him through the protective curtain of inky black hair over her eyes, just handed over a credit card – one of many she had stowed away – and gestured to the Harley. The man grunted, slicing the card through the scanner.

"Bitch," he murmured as she opened the door. Winter turned back to him, one icy blue eye flashing through her hair and the man fell silent. Good.

After gassing up her bike, Winter set up shop in a small diner in the center of the tiny town, which, despite the lack of activity on the streets, was almost halfway filled with people. Winter sighed. It wasn't ideal, but it would do for now. Her mind was still buzzing – there were just too many illogicals following her every move. It didn't make _sense _and that was killing her_. _Winter was a creature of logic and there was nothing logical about a man able to throw her up against a brick wall without even touching her.

And there was nothing online either, Winter discovered to her complete disappointment after more than an hour of searching. There was nothing anywhere that matched what she'd seen, not even in the Pentagon's experimental research division. Winter had created a virus weeks ago that had buried into the mainframe of the security systems, leaving her a back door that would give her a way in, in case she needed to access any files. But there was nothing. According to the government, this thing didn't exist either. Frustrated, Winter closed her laptop and took out her leather notebook. If she couldn't find information, she'd start compiling her own. But no sooner had her pen touched the page then Winter went into a kind of trance. She scribbled furiously, alternating between writing and drawing in no particular order or organized fashion, her movements fluid and graceful while being completely uncontrolled.

"Hey," Winter's head snapped up at the hand on her shoulder. The boy looming over her startled backwards, blinking before regaining his composure. A squirming black kitten was wriggling furiously in his arms. Winter rolled her eyes, looking down on her notes again.

"Yes, she's mine," Winter replied, her voice tap-dancing the border between bored and concerned as she looked at what she'd written – and hadn't even known what she'd been writing as she took the kitten from the boy, "yes, that's my bike parked outside; and no, I'm not from around here, so whatever you and your brother want, you'll have to ask someone else." Winter's eyes widened as she saw what she'd done on the pages, the boy almost forgotten. The man's transition from human to monster was there, drawn in short, inked strokes, surrounded by notes written in a handwriting that she didn't recognize. Winter's eyes widened. How had she _done_ this? There were other notes and drawings too, but Winter didn't get the chance to see them, because a shadow fell across the page and Winter snapped the book shut on impulse.

"Can I help you?" she asked, standing, her frustration only increasing when she saw that the boy was taller than her. Winter prided herself on her height – almost six feet – and the fact that this irritating person towered over her by a good four inches annoyed her to no end. The boy looked at her curiously, flicking his overlong brown hair out of his eyes as if to study her better. Winter didn't like that. She was the one who did the studying, not the other way around.

"I – um," the boy stammered as Winter looked up, her icy eyes meeting his of darker blue.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that snooping is rude?" Winter asked scathingly. The boy stiffened and she knew she'd hit a nerve. It had been a guess that that particular jab would mean something to him, but her shots in the dark were often bulls' eyes. Winter collected her things and exited the diner without another word, snapping her fingers for the kitten to follow her.

Winter quickly made her way to the motel on the outskirts of the township, checking in and escaping into the room as fast as she could. She needed to get a better look at what she'd done in the notebook. It now seemed like there was a constant buzzing in her mind – the uncertainty. It was as if it was a living thing, mocking her. First the creature, now she was blacking out and writing? What was going _on_? Winter flipped through the pages of notes, her eyes flickering back and forth, frantically trying to take it all in. One word made its way across the drawing, into the notes. It was everywhere. Just one word:

_ Demon._

* * *

**It's short, I know, but if it was longer it wouldn't be as dramatic! And I love drama! Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks to the lovelies who already did!**_  
_

**~Fae**


	3. Chapter 3

Winter's eyes snapped open at the sound of voices outside her door. She'd never been a heavy sleeper, and there was just something about being pursued by a creature _literally_ hell-bent on killing you that kept a person from getting a good night's rest. But there was one thing that sleep had bestowed upon her: confidence. Winter wasn't losing her mind. This was all real. Something new, something to be learned. And suddenly, it didn't matter that there were things in this new world out to get her – Winter was excited.

"Dean, we could just knock." It was the tall boy from the diner, Winter was sure of it.

"Yeah, well, you said she could be a witch and I don't trust witches."

"No, you don't _like_ witches because Missouri called you goofy-looking." There was a pause.

"Shut up." Quickly blinking the sleep out of her eyes, Winter grabbed the guns stashed under her pillow and stood with the barrels aimed sound of voices. As soon as the door swung open – picked from the outside – Winter fired two shots without hesitation.

"Holy shit!" the voice Winter hadn't recognized – Dean? – swore.

"That," Winter said coldly, her voice oddly lifeless, blanketed by the smoke her guns had kicked up, "was your warning. You don't get another one. Now tell me who you are and what you want or I shoot to kill."

"Hey, hey, hey," the taller brother said, moving forward, his hands held up in surrender. "We're not going to hurt you." Like they could if they wanted to. "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean. We're unarmed, we just want to talk."

Winter raised a feathery eyebrow. "Liar. He's armed. A gun and...two knives? One in the coat and one in the boot."

"You didn't say your witch liked guns," Dean hissed under his breath.

"Not a witch," Winter said, smirking at the surprised look on both of their faces that she could hear them. She'd always had uncannily good hearing. Eyesight too. "Just paying attention. Now, that doesn't answer the 'what do you want' part of this round and my trigger finger is getting stiff."

"I saw your drawings," Sam said quickly. "Of the demon."

"And...?" Winter said, rolling her eyes, before the answer hit her in a wave. "You think it's the killer? You think a demon has been killing all of those people around here?"

"Now, how the hell do you know that if you're not a witch?" Dean demanded, advancing on her so that they were almost nose-to-nose. Winter bit back her grin at the fact that they were very nearly the same height.

"I told you: I pay attention."

"Yeah, I'm going to need a little more than that."

"You were talking to the waitress at the diner about the killings, which clearly _are_ murders, whatever the police say. The police never know what they're talking about, they're idiots. You're travelers, never stay in one place too long, obvious from how you live out of that Chevy Impala; you know about the demon and broke into my room with no incentive but that you thought that _I_ might know something. With weapons. So, not only are you hunting whatever's killing these people, you don't know what it is yet, either." Winter paused, her eyes flashing with cold amusement. "How am I doing so far?"

"That's amazing," the tall one, Sam, said. Winter's eyes cut to him. There was no jealousy or suspicion in his voice, just admiration. Odd. Not the reaction she usually had on people. "You knew all that. Well, can you tell us anything about the demon?"

"Sam," Dean said warningly. "She _shot_ at you."

"If she knows something, then we can find this thing!" Sam said, his voice husky all of a sudden, rough.

"I get the feeling that there are two different hunts going on." Winter said casually. "But I can't help you. Everything I know about my demon was acquired rather...recently." A few hours ago, actually. And not enough to know how to kill it.

Yet.

_"Your_ demon?" Dean asked. Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

"The one who tried to kill me. I figure that I owe him a bullet in the head."

"What happened?" Sam asked, moving closer, sounding concerned. Winter shrugged, as if the story didn't bother her in the slightest, though she couldn't understand why the boy would care about her.

"He tried to kill me, I shot him. He burned down my house, I shot him some more." Winter said cavalierly. "Anyway, can't help you with your..." Winter trailed off, a thought sparking. An idea. Better yet, an experiment. Sirens screamed out on the road behind the motel. And perfect timing, too.

"There's been another murder," Winter said, striding out the door and straddling her bike before looking back, irritated when she saw that the brothers hadn't made a move to follow her. "Look, boys," she said, rolling her eyes. Why were the people around her always so stupid? "You have no idea what's killing these people and someone else just died. And guess what: I'm your best chance at catching whatever it is." Winter didn't tell them to follow, but kick-started her bike, roaring out of the motel parking lot and towards the sounds of the sirens.

* * *

"I'm sorry, miss, but you can't be here," a uniformed police officer said, throwing out an arm to keep Winter from crossing the police tape. The front of the house was ravaged – it looked like it had been attacked by something massive and rabid. Sirens screamed and red and blue police lights flashed, lighting up the night.

"That's my cousin!" Winter shrieked, pushing weakly at the officer, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Oh, my God..."

"Mandy never mentioned family..." the officer said haltingly. Small town. Everyone knew each-other.

"We were estranged," Winter said, her eyes fixed on the house like she couldn't believe it, her hand clapped over her mouth in horror. "I was coming to visit...we hadn't seen each-other in so long, I thought – I though that we could...and now she's dead?"

"I'm so sorry," the policeman said, sounding sincere.

"Please," Winter said, grabbing the officer's uniform sleeve with sudden desperation. "Let me bring my aunt back something...her necklace, she was always wearing this necklace." For a moment, it looked like the police officer would refuse, but his resolve faltered as Winter looked to the ground, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"Alright. You get five minutes, you hear me? But that's it. And don't touch anything – this is still a crime scene. Winter nodded with a grateful thank you, ducking under the yellow safety tape and stealing into the house.

"What," Winter drawled when she heard the side-door open, "took you so long?" She didn't bother taking her eyes off of the mess. Claw marks raked the walls of the living room, shredded the furniture and gouged long trenches in the floor. Blood was splattered everywhere, in a pattern that suggested a violent animal attack.

"How did you know that he'd let you in?" Sam asked, ducking to keep from banging his head on the doorway.

"Better question. Why did you think that that was a good idea? The cops know what you look like now." Dean interjected before Winter could answer.

"No, they don't." Winter said simply, absently fingering a black strand of hair. It was so long that even when it was twisted up, hiding the natural silver-blonde, her hair came past her shoulders. "And I knew they'd let me in because most people have a soft spot for tearful relatives, especially when they're young."

"You _cried_?" Dean asked skeptically. Winter turned towards him, tears suddenly brimming over the bottom lids of her very, very blue eyes.

"Why are you always so _mean_ to me?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Dean said hastily, backing away. Winter sneered, her eyes clearing and cooling again. In a matter of seconds, the crying girl who had replaced her so quickly was gone.

"See?" she said, refocusing her attention on a particular set of scratches on the wall. "Thank you for making my point for me." Winter ignored the bickering of the brothers as she extended her fingertip to the claw mark, brushing it ever-so gently. She gasped, her eyes going wide, and fell against the wall, leaning against it heavily for support.

"Hey!" Sam said sharply.

"What?" Dean snapped from the other room.

"I need some help over here! I think she's seizing!" Winter's eyes widened even still, her pupils almost swallowed by the iris, her fingers twitching and drawing symbols into the air. Her lips moved silently, forming words that couldn't be heard.

"What the hell...?" Dean murmured, helping Sam restrain Winter's arms before she could hurt herself. The instant they touched her, Winter came to, her eyes, so wide just a moment ago, now narrowed into dangerous slits.

"Stop. Touching. Me." Winter hissed.

"You – you were having a seizure or something," Sam said, backing off.

"Or something," Winter stood, brushing herself off. Not a seizure, though. An experiment. And a successful one, at that. Seemed that whatever was channeling information into her brain had to do with touch, and it was happening faster. But there also was an advantage. Winter spun in a circle, seeing the wreckage in a new light – a strand of coarse hair here, a bloodstain darker than the rest there. "This," she announced, making her diagnosis, "was a lycanthrope." A werewolf. "The room was shredded," she explained, knowing the the brothers wouldn't take her at her word, "and the pattern suggest an animal attack. But then these rooms are untouched – except for that one." Winter pointed to the room that Dean had been in before. "That one was searched through and put back together. Not very well, but the effort is there. There are also traces of fur mixed in with the blood – fur than is just long and coarse enough to we belong to a wolf. But there are no wolves in West Virginia, so the whatever killed the girl either had a very well-behaved pet wolf, or was a wolf. Ergo, lycanthrope. And it was looking for something."

"It left through the back," Sam said, inspecting the broken lock on the rear door.

"Well done," Winter said sarcastically. "Yes. Out the back and into the woods." She quickly stepped past the brothers, making to follow the werewolf, when a hand of her wrist stopped her cold.

"Why should we trust you?" Dean said. "Some chick we just met who claims she's not a witch, but knows stuff that no one without some kind of advantage should be able to know. And, besides, the police will see you if you leave, new girl. Hell, we don't even know your _name._"

"I never asked you to trust me," Winter replied, snatching her hand away. "I never asked you to follow me. You did that all on your own. And I do have an advantage: I pay attention. 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sam murmured. Winter nodded, looking mildly impressed. Or not so scornful, which for her was the same thing. Glaring at Dean, she opened the back door, pulling her hair free, the shining silvery curtain falling past her waist.

"They won't recognize me." She paused, halfway through the door. "And the name's Winter."

She didn't waste any time making her way through the woods, following a trail of footsteps that was so obvious to her that it might have well been lit up with luminous paint.

"I know you're out here," Winter said softly into the darkness.

"You should not have followed me," a deep male voice growled before a thick forearm clamped around her throat. Winter choked, the air driven from her lungs, and clawed at the man's skin, but if anything he just pulled his arm tighter around her windpipe. Winter fought back with everything that she had, but the werewolf was unnaturally strong. In a last-ditch effort to free herself, Winter kicked her feet into the ground as hard as she could, launching herself backwards into the man and slamming the back of her head against his face. His grip slackened for a moment and Winter managed to wriggle free, springing to her feet. But her freedom was short-lived. The man pounced again, knocking her to the ground, his knee on her stomach this time as he curled his fingers around her throat. Winter fought, but she was weak from the lack of oxygen. Black spots danced in front of her eyes and Winter was beginning to lose feeling in her arms and legs. But her chest felt as if it was burning from the inside out at her heart pumped harder and harder to get oxygenated blood that she couldn't produce.

"Winter!" Her eyes snapped towards the voice, their clear blue clouding as darkness claimed her. But even as her fair lids fluttered shut, Winter was smiling.

* * *

Winter woke abruptly, jumping up, ignoring the wave of nausea that threatened to tug her back to the ground. She was unbound, her guns were still tucked securely in her waistband. Her captors were confident in their abilities to keep her – overly so.

And that pissed her off.

Winter rushed to the door, throwing it open with one hand, holding a gun with the other.

"Where do you think you're going?" a prissy female voice asked from behind her. African-American. Mid-twenties. And a werewolf, if the rasp that she shared with the male in the woods was any indication.

"To get Chinese," Winter replied, matching her tone and firing without warning. "Want some?" The woman was barely fazed by the bullets lodged in her chest. She barely even reacted, save for snarling and advancing on Winter angrily.

"Bitch," the female werewolf – Winter's new knowledge confirmed it – growled. Winter fired again, the bullet snapping the woman's head back, before shattering a window to her right with the hilt of her semi and swinging outside. Her fingers gripped the windowsill and Winter took a deep breath, letting herself drop to the next floor down. Her body was acting on autopilot as her mind whirled, trying to come up with the safest escape route, taking in her surrounding and weighing variables on instinct. She didn't have a lot of time to think it out. She was in the woods. A brick house in the woods with one dirt road leading in and out, with a padlocked gate a little ways down. And from the lack of noise, she'd guess that there wasn't anyone else around for miles. She was pretty much screwed, Winter recognized that.

But it had never stopped her before.

For the single moment after she'd let herself drop, Winter was weightless, then the moment ended and the tips of her boots scraped against the lower sill and Winter scrambled to hold on. Now she was only one story up, but if she fell, there was still a good chance of a fatality. Winter's eyes cast around, focusing in on a flagpole a few feet away. Breathing deeply and thinking back to her ten years of gymnastics training, Winter leaped up, then pushed violently off of the brick wall of the building and flew through the air parallel to the ground, her arms outstretched, fingers grasping for the cool metal of the pole. Once they found purchase, Winter swung her body, spinning around until she landed safely on the ground.

"Nice acrobatics," the female lycanthrope snarled, suddenly by her side again. Damn she was fast. "But they won't save you." In an instant, her manicured fingernails turned into curved claws and she attacked. Winter dodged, but not quickly enough. The claws missed her chest, but raked her arm, opening up four wide gauges that sliced cleanly through skin and muscle from her shoulder to a little past her elbow. Winter bit back a cry of pain, but stood her ground, unmoving. The female charged, stopping dead in front of her, claws only inches away from her chest.

"What are you doing?" she growled.

"An experiment." Winter replied, her voice tight with pain. She cradled her injured arm with one hand, trying to stop the bleeding. "Let's see how important it is to keep me alive." Gritting her teeth, Winter brought her gun up with her bleeding arm, its twin in her other hand, also aimed at the female werewolf. She fired without hesitation, her guns spitting bullets in unison. The female roared, her teeth lengthening until they stuck out of her top and bottom lips, but didn't move any closer. Winter's lips twitched into a smile, despite the fierce burning tearing at her arm.

"Now that _is_ fascinating," she murmured, cocking her head like a curious bird, her platinum hair falling in a silvery curtain. "You need me alive."

"But that doesn't mean in one piece," the female snarled, moving so fast that Winter – in her pain-clouded state – couldn't track her movements until she was behind her. The werewolf snatched Winter's gun away and tossed it, then grasped Winter's injured arm and twisted, wrenching in behind her back and forcing the other gun out of her hand. Winter gasped, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Her vision went white for a moment, searing white with the pain, before clearing a moment later. Damn.

"Ask me to stop," the female werewolf said softly into her ear. "Beg."

"Not a chance," Winter replied stonily. The werewolf growled, pulling harder. Winter's breath hissed through her teeth and she fell to her knees. The female gloated, laughing with malicious glee, but Winter's attention had shifted. The ground was vibrating, only slightly, but enough to tell her that something was coming their way. Something big and something fast. Winter curled in on herself, her free hand slipping into her jacket, working her knife free.

"Not so tough now are you?" the werewolf said smugly, yanking on her bloody arm – hard. Winter groaned, but refused to scream. Whatever it was was getting closer. "You little bitch..." Then suddenly the pressure released and Winter was free. She scrambled to her feet, watching the werewolf's face turn into a mask of fear and rage – right before something enormous and black as pitch barreled out of the woods surrounding the house and into the female. She roared, but whatever it was, it was fast. Too fast. The werewolf didn't even have a change to transition before the creature had her pinned and ripped out her throat in a matter of seconds. Winter stumbled backwards as the creature moved in towards her, then turned suddenly at the sound of a new voice.

"Luna!" It was the man. The male werewolf from the woods – the one that had choked Winter into submission. With a very feline snarl, the creature exploded into motion again, scaling the brick walls of the building like it was nothing. Winter turned, hobbling into the woods, leaving a bloody trail behind her. She needed to put some distance between herself and whatever had killed the werewolf – werewolves. She could hear the sounds of the male being torn apart back at the house. It wasn't quiet.

"Winter!" Her head snapped to the sound of her name being called. It was Sam's voice.

"I'm touched that you bothered to follow me at all," Winter said, emerging from the leafy foliage, leaning on a tree to mask her weakness, and hiding her hurt arm behind her. She was beginning to see double, and her hearing was fluctuating like someone was playing with the volume settings.

"It was his idea," Dean said, dusting off his leather jacket.

"No doubt," Winter said, smiling wryly through the pain.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asked, inching towards her. Winter flinched back, the sudden movement bring about a whole new wave of dizziness. "You look...bad."

"Fine. I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine." Sam said, moving ever closer.

"I'm _fine_!" Winter snapped, her narrow eyes going wide when she saw the black creature lunge in front of her, landing there, crouched.

"What the hell is that?" Dean said slowly, his voice deadly serious, a shotgun suddenly materializing in his hands. Winter couldn't answer that. Now that it was still – and locked in a defensive position in front of her – Winter could see that the creature _was_ distinctly feline. Midnight-black, it looked somewhat similar to a jaguar, only thinner, leaned. Less broad, proportionally, though still bigger than the original. But when its head swung back to look at her, Winter could see intelligence, even _worry_ in its sea-blue eyes.

"Lila..." Winter murmured softly, understanding dawning. An impossible understanding. "Dean, put the gun down."

"Why should I?"

"Because I asked nicely. And that only happens once."

"Yeah, because you look like you're in fighting shape." Dean snarked.

"I may not be, but my friend's never been better," Winter said coldly. "Now drop the gun."

"Do it, Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Why?" Dean demanded. "Why do you insist on trusting her?"

"That thing isn't hurting anyone – it killed the werewolves!"

"We only think that they were werewolves because _she_ said that they were!" Dean countered angrily. "How do we know that they weren't innocent civilians who got in the way of her and her pet mountain lion or whatever the hell it is? How do we know that they're even the ones who killed that girl back in town?"

"They were," Winter said, her voice become sluggish. "And I don't think I'd manage to choke myself out," she said, flipping open her jacket to reveal her neck mottled with black and blue fingermarks. "Nor do _this_ to my own arm." Slowly, Winter pried her jacket off of the wound, peeling back a good amount of the skin she had left as well. Underneath her arm looked like it had been put through a garbage disposal: only a few tatters of skin tried weakly to cover up the bloody mess of exposed sinew and muscle. It was worse now that the female had torn it up. Dislocated shoulder, maybe a collarbone. If she was lucky, it would heal. If not, she'd have to get used to being a lefty. The cat hissed, the sound somehow conveying its fear and concern.

"I'm okay," Winter assured it, her voice soft and weak.

"No you're not. You need to get to a hospital," Sam insisted, trying to look closer, but the enormous cat blocked his path, snarling.

"No hospitals. Just take me back to town. The werewolves are dead, so you're job is done. I've got my own things to worry about." She could feel the brothers' awed stares as she brushed past them, the jungle cat following behind her like an obedient puppy. But it was all for show. The road beneath her feet felt like a slip'n'slide. She couldn't hold her balance.

This time, she passed out quietly.

* * *

**Dun dun dunnnnn! Please review and tell me what y'all think! Do I write the Winchesters in character? Hmmmm**_?__ **Loves you!**_

_**~Fae**_


	4. Chapter 4

"I think you're being a moron." Hearing came before sight. Her eyelids felt like they weighed tons. But Winter didn't need her eyes – her other senses would suffice.

"So you've mentioned." Sam. And Dean. And the beeping of mechanical machinery, along with a cloying antiseptic smell that made Winter want to jump out of her own skin. Skin that felt stiff and waxy all along her arm. Hospital. Those idiots had brought her to a hospital. Winter would've ground her teeth if she could've moved her jaw.

"What I don't get is why you insist on trusting her. We met her, what, three days ago? And since then, she's shot at you, gotten herself captured by werewolves, pissed them off and then had her freaky transforming cat kill said werewolves, maybe at the expense of her arm. She's trouble."

"We go around _looking_ for trouble." Sam replied.

"Yeah, but she's weird, man. The way she sees everything, the way she talks. You've got to admit, she's a complete psychopa – "

"Not a psychopath." Winter said, opening her eyes slowly, her pupils reacting violently to the stark whiteness of the hospital room. "I'm not a psychopath, I'm – " she paused, lips twitching into a smirk. "You know what? I'll let you figure it out. Let me know when it comes to you, 'kay?"

"Unbelievable. You weren't supposed to come to for another day."

"Sorry to disappoint. I have an unusually high recovery rate." Winter said, sitting up and massaging feeling back into her shoulder with her free hand. The other was encased in gauze and bandages. "And no tolerance for anesthesia. I'm surprised that I stayed out for as long as I did. What, four, five hours to stitch up my arm and another two hours back here in recovery? That makes it...almost eight, assuming that when I woke up before, it was a little past noon when I woke up before." The fact that she had been taken so many places against her will in one day was beginning to wear on Winter's nerves.

"How do you _do_ that?"

"Figure it out," Winter said, eying Dean with cold amusement. He looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue. "It'll come to you." She frowned, feeling the sting of the IV drip in her arm, quickly unwrapping the medical tape that held it in place and ripping it out. "I hate medicine. Thiopentone sodium and lidocaine always make me jumpy."

"What the hell are those?"

"Chemicals used in anesthesia." Sam said immediately. "I took a class as Stanford," he explained sheepishly when Dean and Winter both looked at him.

"Stanford. Good school," Winter said to herself, carefully extracting the oxygen tube out of her nose. God, they'd though that she'd be under for a while.

"You went to Stanford? What are you, sixteen? Oh...is _that_ why you like her, Sammy? Do all you nerdy college kids have trackers so that you can find each-other and talk about math and how much school rocks?"

"You are a child." Winter said, rolling her eyes and ticking off his many questions on her fingers. "Yes, I went to Stanford. Degree in biochemistry and anatomy, if you're curious. I'm eighteen, you moron. Oh, and he doesn't like me because I went to college – multiple colleges, actually – he likes me because I remind him of someone." Sam's eyes went wide and Winter knew that she was right. His mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish before he threw open the doors of the hospital room, storming out.

"Sam!" Dean called after him, but there was no answer. "Sammy!" He followed his brother out the door, but Sam had already vanished into the white-washed maze of the hospital.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Winter said curiously when Dean returned, her voice high and innocent.

"You bitch. You knew that would screw with his head." In an instant, the innocent facade was gone. Ripping the last of the tubes out of her arm, Winter swung herself out of the bed, looking him straight in the eye, not backing down. She had just gone toe-to-toe with a sadistic werewolf; she would _not _be bullied by the likes of him.

"Ooh, the protective older brother, come out to play. Fascinating how you pick and choose your moments. Well get this, bad boy, I screw with everyone's head. It's not my fault that they just can't keep up. And, in life, it's keep up or die. There are things out there that _can_ keep up, and they're a hell of a lot scarier than you, Dean Winchester."

"Right, because you think that you're so smart, that you know everything! You got lucky, new girl, that we were there to save your ass from bleeding out when you pissed off that werewolf. You don't know _anything_ about our world."

"Maybe not yet." Winter said. "But I learn fast. And it wasn't luck. I knew that your brother would come looking for me, so I made sure to stay conscious until he could see me. And this is going to kill you," Winter said, so softly that it was almost a whisper, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling his head down towards hers, "but I _trusted_ that he would make you come and find me. Blind faith. Stings, doesn't it?" she asked, releasing his jacket. "Knowing that your morals are blacker than mine? That's something not everyone can attest to. Be proud." Dean's face took on the same expression his brother's had just a few minutes ago, blank shock, his eyes impossibly wide. They were pretty eyes, but that didn't strike a chord with Winter. Not much did. She sniffed delicately, a clear dismissal, before grabbing her bag off of a barely-stuffed chair and beginning to change into her old clothes, leather jacket with the shredded sleeve and all. When she turned around again, Dean was gone. Winter sighed, wincing as she pulled her injured arm into the jacket, pulled her hair up into a knot on the top of her head and strode out of the room.

"I'd like discharge papers, please." Winter said sweetly to the nurse behind the reception desk.

"Which room?" she asked without looking up.

"209."

"I'm sorry, I can't discharge her, she had major surgery today." Winter banged her palm on the counter and the nurse's head snapped up.

"I said," Winter said clearly, enunciating every word, her eyes sharper than glass. "I'd like the discharge papers. Please." The nurse made a squeaking sound like that of a terrified mouse, quickly handing the documents over. "Thank you." Winter said crisply, handing them back once she'd signed her name. The fake name that the Winchesters had signed her in under. "June." Hysterical.

* * *

"Your brother is looking for you." Winter said, finding Sam in the vacant hospital shop. Why there were gift-shops in hospitals always astounded Winter. Who celebrated the ill being ill by bringing them presents?

"He can wait." Sam didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the wall opposite him like he wanted to burn it down with his eyes alone. Winter rolled her eyes at his stoicism and moved next to him, their arms almost touching as she leaned casually against the abandoned front counter of the store.

"Who was it? The girl the demon killed?" Sam's face took on a look of shock before he realized that he shouldn't be surprised that she'd guessed the truth.

"My girlfriend. Jessica," he said, still looking at the wall.

"Well." Winter said. "I'm not Jessica. So I would appreciate it if you stopped pushing your residual feelings for her onto me." Sam's head snapped to the side, his eyes burning with furious blue fire. Winter held up a hand for him to remain silent, continuing. "Because I guarantee that she's better than I am. From everything I know about you, I'm thinking that she was kind, caring, generous? Everything that I'm not and never will be. So stop trying to protect me like you would her, because it's an insult to her memory, which is something you clearly hold very dear."

"I – uh," Sam started, stopped, then started again. "You're right." Of course she was right. "But what about you? Why are you going after this thing? Just because it attacked you?"

Winter sighed. "No," she said finally after the long silence. "Not completely. It burned down the longest-lasting home I've ever had. Killed my foster-mother too." Winter grinned at the surprised look on Sam's face. "What? Didn't peg me for a system kid? Mary never wanted to keep me, but the FBI made her. Still, I figure I owe the bastard."

"The FBI?" Sam asked, looking equal parts concerned and curious. "What did they have to do with you?"

"Everything and nothing. But that's all I'll say," Winter smirked. "Adds to the mystery."

"Trust me, you don't need any more mystery."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Winter said, preening. "But also know this. I'm hunting the demon down, but if it is the one who killed your Jessica, I'll let you do the honors."

"You, uh...you want us to come with you?" Sam said, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Hunt it with you?"

"On the contrary. I know that you're looking for someone else. Not just the demon, not just the creatures you kill in passing. Someone important, I'm guessing a family member. You've already got your brother, so it has to be a mother or father. And I," Winter smiled at her own personal joke, "am the last one who wants to break up a family, so no. _I _want to come with _you_."

* * *

**So what do we think of this new development? And I know this chapter is short, but any longer would ruin it.**

**~Fae**


	5. Chapter 5

Winter was bored. Again. She sighed, clicking her tongue with impatience, leaning against her motorcycle with her leather bag slung along her back. Lila paced, an enormous jungle cat, now that they were out of sight of civilians. They were in the middle of nowhere and the Winchesters were fighting. Loudly. Over her.

"No!" Dean shouted, so loud that Winter could hear him, though she was some twenty feet away. "No, no, no, no. And did I mention? No!"

"Dean, come on, man, she can help us..." The rest of Sam's counted was drowned out by Dean's yelling again. Rolling her eyes in irritation, Winter cocked one of her guns and strode over to the car, knocking on the window before firing a shot into the air.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, opening the door and surging out of the Impala.

"I'm bored. Your redundant arguing is boring me." Winter said blandly. "Dean, I know we're not the best of friends, but I'm coming with you whether you like it or not. Besides, without me, you've got no chance of finding your dad. None." Dean's face paled.

"How do you know about that?"

"You carry his journal around with you like religious people carry around a Bible."

Dean rolled his eyes. "And I can guess that you're not one of those,"

"I've never had time for religion," Winter replied, shrugging. "In my line of work, you see too much tragedy to believe in anything more."

"And what _is_ your line of work?" Sam asked, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. "You mentioned the FBI...but if we're going to trust you, you've got to give us something, even a little."

"That's my boy!" Dean said, nodding approvingly. "Finally making some sense." Winter glared, her icy eyes sharpening. Lila growled.

"I suppose it isn't enough to go on faith?" Their twin stares answered for her. "No. Interesting."

"And another thing." Dean said. "You always make those annoying little comments. 'Fascinating.' 'Interesting.' I'm partly convinced that this genius act is just a load of crap."

"I worked with the FBI since I was sixteen until about four days ago, solving the cases that they couldn't because I can see things that they can't." Winter said, talking quickly. "They didn't want my help most of the time so I went and solved the cases on my own. Shot a good number of people and got shot at most of the time in return. When the FBI finally figured out that they needed me, I became a consultant under the table. Most of the Bureau doesn't know I exist. How's that sound? Oh, and Dean. I am not a genius. To call me that would be an insult to my intelligence and I do not appreciate it. I realize and store information constantly, based on what I observe." Winter stepped closer. "So every taunt, every glib remark, every asinine comment tells me more and more about you." Winter smiled. "And I already know that you don't want that." Still smiling, Winter strode over to her bike, Lila shrinking into a tiny house-cat once more and hopping into her bag, straddling it.

"That's good enough for me," Sam said, ducking into the passenger seat. Dean grimaced, but followed suit.

Then they were on the road.

* * *

"Why have we stopped?" Winter asked when the brothers turned off onto the side of the road. Night had fallen hours before and virtually no one had been on the roads as they crossed one state line after another. In fact, it was almost morning again.

"We're switching," Sam said, getting out of the Impala.

"We're what?"

"You need to sleep. Or Dean does."

"There is no way in hell I'm letting her drive my car!" Dean interjected from the driver's side.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Winter said, bored, then turning back to Sam. "I don't need to sleep."

"Yes, you do," Sam insisted. "You've been riding for almost ten hours straight. You need to get some rest."

"I am not some invalid that you need to take care of, Samuel." Winter said. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I did it for eight years." Sam looked at his feet, his eyes snapping up again when Winter put a hand on his arm. "But thank you."

"For what?"

"Defending me to your brother. Caring. Just pardon me if it takes me a while to get used to." Winter grinned at the surprised look on Sam's face, casually tossing her keys and catching them. "Can you even ride a Harley?"

"Don't insult me," Sam scoffed, recovering well and snatching the keys out of the air. "Play nice with my brother, now."

"I make no promises," Winter said, shouldering her bag and scratching Lila's head.

"Damn," Dean said when Winter closed the passenger door behind her. "I was hoping you'd talk him out of it. And why'd you have to bring your freaky cat along too?" Lila turned, her eyes flat and snarled, baring abnormally large teeth for a kitten.

"You realize that she can understand you," Winter said coolly, "and that she grows based on anger, yes?" Dean grumbled something under his breath, starting the car. Winter leaned back and before she knew it she was asleep.

"You know, there's something weird about you." Dean said as soon as he saw that Winter was awake.

"Oh, you mean besides the eyes, the hair and fact that I've got ten different degrees and am only eighteen. Plus the ability to read you like a book and the transforming cat?"

"Your eyes don't have a reflection. And you sleep with your eyes open. That's just creepy."

"Watching me sleep?" Winter said, a sly smile turning her mouth up at the corners. "How very Edward Cullen. Do you sparkle in the sunlight?" Winter sat up, satisfied at the uncomfortable look on Dean's face. "Good morning."

"It's been almost a day since you passed out. Sam and I have been taking shifts driving and riding the Harley."

"Well, you could've woken me up." Winter said, yawning. "Let's play a game," she suggested suddenly.

"A game." Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't trust me. And I'm bored."

"What does your boredom have to do with trust?"

"Nothing. However, if I can guess what you're thinking, then you get to ask me a question and I have to answer it. And if we're starting now, you think that this is a waste of time and that I'm a weirdo or a freak...no. Freak. Definitely freak."

"How could – "

"Same way I know everything else." Winter said smoothly. "Same way I know that you're right handed and don't think I'm nearly as smart as I think I am." Dean's eyes narrow, his mind focusing, but Winter guessed his thoughts again and again.

"You're wrong." Dean snapped finally. Winter raised an eyebrow.

"You're a liar. But, fine. I'll give you this one."

"Okay then. What's up with those weird fits you have? You know nothing about our world, then suddenly you're the leading expert on demons and werewolves? It doesn't make sense."

"I don't know." Winter said honestly.

"I thought you knew everything." Dean snapped back. "Or thought that you did, at least. Who's the liar now?" Dean smirked. Winter rolled her eyes.

"It's the questions I _can't_ answer that keep me going," she replied. "If I knew everything, why would I bother to live? The boredom would be unbearable. But there's something new now."

"What do you mean?" Winter looked at him, trying to decide whether or not to tell the truth. Sam was already letting her on-board, no strings attached, but Dean didn't trust her. Winter honestly didn't care whether or not her trusted her, but she wasn't planning to leave them any time soon. They were her best chance of finding the demon who'd attacked her – to finding answers.

"I mean that you called me out on it. I don't know anything about _anything_ supernatural. But I have fits. And I learn."

"Like with the werewolves. You touched the claw mark and suddenly were an expert."

"Exactly. It happens without my control when I touch something...not human."

"What about people? Can you touch me and all of a sudden know my deepest, darkest secrets?"

"No, it doesn't work like that." Winter said. "And, please, I don't need help to figure out your deepest, darkest secrets." Dean looked like he was going to say something in return, but Winter cut him off.

"Stop the car," she ordered, throwing her arm across Dean's chest and turning, her eyes wide.

"What?"

"Stop the car!" Winter shrieked, opening the door and throwing herself out, tucking her body and rolling upon impact. There was something wrong with Sam. He was spinning out, the motorcycle roaring towards her at breakneck speed.

"Lila!" Winter said crisply, and the cat was in motion, leaping out of the Impala and charging into Sam, knocking him over. Winter jumped, back-handspringing out of the way of the bike before it skidded to a stop and fell over onto its side.

"Sam?" Dean said, finally having stopped the Impala. "Sam!" Winter didn't know what was wrong. He was having some kind of a fit. His eyes were wide and Winter startled, seeing that they were acid-green instead of their usual blue. Something was wrong.

"Get out of my way." Dean said roughly, pushing Winter away, but not before she had laid her hand on Sam's shoulder. Winter shot backwards, burning pain searing through her skull. She saw herself, herself and another. A man with eyes that looked rotted and yellow.

Demon.

Winter curled in on herself, clutching at her head.

It was looking at her appraisingly. There was someone else there too. A man, with a rough chin and dark eyes. He was saying something, but Winter couldn't hear what. He was trying to get her to leave but she wouldn't. She wasn't going to leave him at the mercy of that _thing_. She could do something, she could help. She had this new knowledge and knowledge was power. Winter could see herself talking, but couldn't make out the words, they were too fuzzy and muddled. The demon with yellow eyes grinned at her, bending at the waist in a mocking bow before turning and leaving. The man with the dark eyes turned on her, pulling a gun. He aimed and fired without blinking and the vision evaporated.

"Winter!" Her eyes snapped open, the putrid green fading away to cold blue in an instant.

"Dammit," she swore softly. "Sam, are you okay? What the hell happened?"

"What happened to _you_?" he returned instantly. "You looked like you were in a lot of pain."

"I just jumped out of a moving vehicle." Winter said blandly. "And probably hit my head, I'm fine. However, what happened to _you_ is not fine. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"You see things don't you?"

"Hey now," Dean cut in, "let's not jump to conclusions."

"Oh, don't be stupid." Winter said coldly. "You saw it too."

"I see things." Sam said finally. "Visions. Of people dying. But this one was incomplete. I only saw the room before the whole thing just kind of...destabilized and then disappeared. When you touched my arm." Winter's eyes snapped up, meeting Dean's. _Don't say anything,_ she communicated. For a moment, she didn't know if he would comply.

"Well, she's a freak." Dean said flippantly. "And I'm hungry. Let's find something to eat and something to hunt."

* * *

"Alright, dude," Dean said, folding the newspaper that Winter had stolen, "not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What've you got?"

"Well," Sam said, eyes scanning his laptop. Winter tuned out, not caring where they were going. She was busy filling in her notebook with everything that she'd learned thus far, adding drawings and doodles that she wasn't able to create only a week ago. The yellow-eyed demon she'd seen in Sam's vision – the vision that she'd stolen from him – he was different. She didn't know how, but he was. He was something to her, or she something to him, but Winter had no idea what. There was a connection, but she didn't know how to make it with the little data she had at her disposal.

"Yo, new girl, snap out of it. We're going to Colorado."

"Finally," Winter said, snapping her book closed. "Something to do."

The house looked normal from the outside, but that held no water with Winter.

"Lila," she whispered, and the cat bounded out of her arms, growing and sniffing around like a police-dog.

"Looks like the maid didn't come today," Dean quipped. Winter rolled her eyes, taking in the mess. It looked like whatever had killed him – this man that Sam and Dean's father had known – had been looking for something. There were spots of blood dripping from the broken skylight. There had been more than one. Winter guessed three, maybe four. She reached her hand out, catching a bloody droplet on her fingers. Winter hissed through her teeth, images flashing before her eyes. Pain, lots of pain. Blood everywhere.

"Winter! We've got a lead!" Sam called to her from the other room.

"I'll meet up!" she croaked, not letting herself fall to her knees until she heard the door close behind the Winchesters.

Blood. Blood. _Bloodbloodbloodbloodblood._

It hurt. And not just in her mind anymore, either. There was a searing pain burning into her shoulder, white hot, as if she were being branded. Winter forced herself upwards, gasping against the wall, when a light from outside caught her attention. The taillight of a truck. Someone else had been at the house.

And was now following the boys.

Winter growled, pulling herself together and grabbing her gun.

"Lila," she snarled. "Back me up."

Winter hopped on her bike, following the truck down to the post-office, but when she checked the cabin, there was no one there.

"Drop the gun." There was something unmistakable about the barrel of a shotgun against the back of your neck and Winter recognized it immediately.

"Lila," she said sharply, whipping around to see the enormous jaguar-esque cat slamming into a tall man with olive skin and dark hair, knocking him to the ground. "What were you saying?" she asked sweetly, bending down and rocking down on her heels, smirking. But the smirk vanished when Winter saw that the man was the same one from her – Sam's – vision.

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded. Winter's eyes searched hers, taking in every detail before she snapped her fingers and Lila leaped up, pacing angrily.

"I know, baby," Winter cooed. "I was hoping that he was a bad guy too." She turned to the man, not offering her hand to help him to his feet. "Mr. Winchester, your sons are looking for you."


	6. Chapter 6

"Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Winter," she replied coolly. "That's Lila. Don't piss her off, she'll rip your throat out. Why are you following Sam and Dean? Why not just go and talk to them?"

"How do you know my boys?" John Winchester demanded, taking a step forward, but Lila growled menacingly and he backed off.

"I've been looking for a demon. Maybe the same one they've been looking for, but we're not sure." For a moment, John looked stunned.

"You're looking for the demon?"

Winter's eyes cut to him. "Didn't I just say that? I'm helping them find it. Which, by the way, is what _you_ should be doing."

"Why would they let you come along with them? They know not to involve anyone else in family business."

Winter bristled. "No one _lets _me do anything. I do what I want. And your sons seemed like my best chance of finding this thing and killing it. Speaking of Sam and Dean, there they are." Winter pointed her gun in the air, firing off a shot. Instantly, the Winchesters came running, armed and ready, both stopping dead when they saw who was standing behind her.

"Look what I found." Winter said, blowing smoke away from the barrel. "You are welcome."

"Dad." Dean said, looking shocked, almost...vulnerable. It was only for a second, just a flash in his eyes that no one but Winter would have noticed. But she did notice.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Sam demanded.

"I heard the news about Daniel," John replied. "Got here as fast as I could."

"He was watching us tear apart the old guy's place," Winter added helpfully. "He thinks that you're being followed. Something you took care not to mention to me." It was obvious now what John was worried about following his boys. The demon. But why not just use that to their advantage? Winter couldn't understand their restraint.

"Winter, can you stop being a psycho for ten seconds?" Dean snapped.

"Not a psychopath," she sing-songed. "I thought we'd covered that. I mean I knew that you were slow, but that's just a little sad."

"Dean, who _is_ this girl?" John demanded with the air of a captain ordering information from one of his crew. "Why have you involved her?"

"She involved herself." Dean said, sounding embarrassed.

"And you realize that she is right here, listening, don't you?" Winter said snidely before she was hit by the same scalding pain as before, burning into the back of her shoulder-blade. Her eyes tightened, the only evidence of the sudden pain, before she recovered, turning to leave. "Enjoy your family reunion."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked. "Whatever killed Daniel could still be out there."

"Domestic drama bores me," Winter said. "And, please. I'm a big girl. I take care of myself." Lila followed Winter as she sauntered off into the post office, racing for the bathroom as soon as she was out of view. Dammit, whatever was burning on her skin, it _hurt_. Winter shucked off her black tank top without hesitation, spinning so that she could see...whatever it was in the mirror. Thankfully, no one was there, but Winter wouldn't have cared if they were. Something was burned onto her shoulder-blade. Deliberately. The design was black and twisting, the edges still sizzling from where it had been burned into her skin, making its way up her back and almost reaching the base of her neck. Winter stared at the mark, awed by it. There was something powerful in the symbols that intertwined seamlessly with one-another, twisting to make one cohesive design that clearly meant something. Something to _her. _But what?

"What the hell is that?" Winter whirled around, guns cocked and ready, not relaxing when she saw that it was only Dean.

"You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, you only had to ask." Winter said, eyes narrow, ice-blue slits.

"You would've gone for that?" Dean said, grinning in surprise.

"No. I would've slapped you. But you'd have gotten points for trying." Winter said. "So, Private Winchester, why have you abandoned your commanding officer for the psychopath?"

"I don't know. Now you answer my question. What is that on your back?"

"I don't know," Winter said, echoing him. "It just sort of...appeared. But why are you so interested? We've already established that I'm a freak. Are you just collecting intel for Daddy?" Winter laughed at the guilt-ridden look on Dean's face. "You haven't told him!" she said delightedly. "So now the new question is: why are you keeping secrets for me?"

"I don't _know_." Dean snapped, sounding pissed at himself. "You're the genius, you tell me." Winter put her guns back into the waste-band of her cargo pants, her eyes sharp and she went through her mental catalog of everything she knew about Dean. Protective. Rash. Smart-ass. Soldier. Didn't like her, but apparently didn't want to rat her out to his old man _or _Sam. Interesting, all of it. Winter opened her mouth to reply when another shot of agonizing pain shot up her spine. Winter groaned, the air hissing through her teeth before she snapped her mouth shut, hating herself for showing such weakness, _especially_ in front of Dean.

"Hey, you alright?" Dean said. Lila snarled her concern for her mistress, pacing the tiled floors of the bathroom anxiously.

"Fine." Winter lied, quickly slipping her tank top back over her head. "And you've been away from your commanding officer for far too long. I hope you've made it clear that I'm not leaving."

"Yeah, I think he gets that," Dean grumbled.

"Good."

"I don't know, Dad," Sam was saying when Dean and Winter exited the post-office. "Winter, you'd know."

"Probably."

"Did you see a revolver in the house? A Colt?" Winter placed her hand on her temple, recreating a 3-D diorama of the trashed house in her mind and quickly scanning through it.

"No Colt. But there was a case that looked like it would hold an old gun. Empty."

"They have it." John said.

"You mean whatever killed Elkins?" Dean asked.

"We've got to pick up the trail." John said without answering, getting out of the car.

"Wait," Sam said, stunned for a moment. "You want us to come _with_ you?"

"If Elkins is right, then we got to find this gun." John said, his voice now overlaid with a sense of urgency. That had to be one damn important gun.

"The gun, why?"

"Because it's important."

"Dad. We don't even know what _killed_ him yet." Sam insisted.

"What Elkins hunted best." John said. "Vampires." Winter and John said the word in unison. Daddy Winchester's eyes snapped to Winter, shining with suspicion.

"How do you know that." John demanded flatly.

"She's good at that kind of crap. But, Dad, _vampires_?" Winter lost track of the conversation at that point, too consumed with all the information flooding into her mind at the same time. Predators. Once-human. Weird, retractable second set of teeth that they used to bite and tear. Blood-drinkers. Enhanced sense and damn hard to kill, considering their accelerated healing abilities and that they were not, in fact, allergic to the sun.

"Fine." Winter said, finally coming out of it to see that they'd moved on to a little Q&A that she really hadn't needed to pay attention to anyway. "They need to feed, yes? I'll go, nab the Colt and get out."

"You want to use yourself as bait?" Sam said. "No. No way."

"Look, kid." John said, trying to be placating but it just came off as patronizing. Winter bristled. She was the only one around who was allowed to act superior because she _was_. "I know you think that you're some kind of expert...but why don't you leave this to the professionals?" Winter glared, and in the light, the blue of her eyes seemed to turn almost white.

"Professionals. Okay, Mr. Professional. Whoever the vampires were, there are more of them, most likely eight to ten, but possibly less, considering that vampires are so rare nowadays. A whole nest of them, probably living in a barn somewhere on the edge of town, where they won't be discovered. And they obviously knew your guy. The blood patterns on the desk in the house indicate that they tortured him first, so this is a grudge-killing. But, not only did they kill him but they took the gun. Nothing else was missing but the gun and the bullets, which clearly means something to you, Daniel and the vampires. I'd guess that it is some massively powerful weapon. Something that can kill demons, or you wouldn't be interested in it. Vampires have no quarrel with demons, in fact, they want to stay as off of the radar as possible, so taking the gun was a bonus, leading me to believe that it was a woman who did it. They mate for life, yeah? So whoever this vampire chick is, she tortures and kills your friend and then nicks his magic gun to impress her boyfriend, who's away, I'd assume, and the leader of their little coven." Winter paused, her lips twitching upwards into a smirk when she saw the awed looks on all of the Winchesters' faces. "But, considering that _you_ are the professionals and I have nothing to offer this investigation, I'm sure you knew all that, yes? However, now that I've figured the actual case out for you in, oh, seven seconds, you all can have your long-awaited closure. It's boiling under the surface, even someone _normal_ could see that. I'll be at the motel. First one in the Yellow Pages, under Jim Rockford. I read about your little code in the journal." Winter added when Sam opened him mouth to ask a question. She twisted up her hair, the black overshadowing the blonde and turned her back, vanishing into the night with only the steady growl of her Harley to mark her disappearance.

She did check in, that was the truth, but Winter didn't stay there. On the way to this backwoods Colorado town she'd done her homework. This man wasn't the first the vampires had killed – though this was the only one that was done for vengeance. Winter knew where they'd be. Now she just had to find them. Her bike roared down one of the backstreets that skirted the edge of town, skidding to a stop when she saw a person lying in the road. Bingo.

"Oh my God!" she cried, springing into the street and running to him. "Are you alright?" She helped the man sit up, gasping with theatrical surprise when he flashed a sharp, toothy grin and lunged. Winter didn't bother fighting back, allowing the vampire to drag her back to the rest of the hunting party.

"That's enough for tonight, boys," a female that carried herself like royalty said, grinning. "Let's go home."

"Home" was an abandoned barn right outside of town, as Winter had predicted. Winter was tied up with a man and a woman, both of which seemed scared but relatively unharmed. Relatively being the operative word, considering the man had a nasty bite on his neck.

"Who are you?" the woman asked after almost an hour of silence. The vampires were basically bloodthirsty college kids – they drank, got drunk and made out with one another. That was about it.

Winter was getting bored.

"It speaks!" one of the male vampires said delightedly. "Hey, now baby, you want some beer?" He chuckled to himself. "Maybe if you get wasted enough, I'll be able to taste it in your blood. Atta girl," he said softly when she didn't turn her head away from the bottle. Winter smiled to herself, seeing the muscles tense in her jaw before she spat the beer back into the vampire's face. He raised his hand to strike her when the female leader intervened.

"Bo!" she reprimanded sharply. "Wait for Luther."

"Hey, Bo," Winter piped up with a grin. "You got any tequila?" The vampire sneered, but poured her the shot. Winter had downed three of them before the female leader stopped them.

"Bo! You know how Luther feels about getting them drunk." Winter opened her mouth to comment, but then the doors of the barn blew open and a tall man entered. Speak of the devil. The female ran at him, jumping into his arms and immediately sticking her tongue down his throat.

"Missed you too baby," Luther said when they finally came up for air.

"Jesus," Winter mocked. "Get a room." Both vampires' heads snapped towards her.

"Well, doesn't she look interesting?" Luther said, stroking Winter's cheek. "Mouthy though."

Winter rolled her eyes. "Bite me," she snarled.

"As you wish. Guys, lock up the others." Luther shoved Winter towards the rest of the vampires, who hissed with anticipation, baring their fangs.

"What?" Winter said, turning to their leader before any of them could make a meal out of her. "Don't you want to sample the merchandise?"

"Wait." Luther said. "All right, baby. You think you're tough. Kate. You wanna share?" Kate nodded almost imperceptibly and both of them leaped forward, Luther grabbing Winter in an iron grip and sinking his teeth into her neck, while Kate bit into her shoulder. Winter tried – she did – but she couldn't help but scream. The pain was excruciating.

And then it stopped. Kate snarled, grabbing Winter by the throat and raising her off the floor.

"What?" Winter said, defiant to the end. "Taste didn't agree with you? Too much tequila?"

"Her blood..." Luther said softly, wiping it off of his lips. The liquid on the back of his hand wasn't red, however, like normal blood.

It was black. Winter started, staring at the blood running down Kate's chin as well. There was something so fundamentally _wrong_ with seeing her blood being black instead of the customary red. It was unsettling.

"Luther...Do I kill her?" Winter snapped back to attention, leaving her morbid thoughts behind.

"I wouldn't if I were you." Winter said snarkily, ignoring the pain. "See, that would make him unhappy and seeing as you tortured and killed that guy to _make_ him happy, that would be a touch counterproductive, don't you agree?"

"She's drunk," Kate said, baring her sharpened teeth again. "That's what's off."

"Right," Winter said through gritted teeth. "And the black blood running down your and your boyfriend's chin isn't off. Whatever you say, vampire barbie." Kate snarled, her fingers beginning to constrict around Winter's throat.

"Luther, we should just kill her!" she insisted.

"No!" Luther snapped and Kate immediately dropped Winter and scuttled away. Winter barked out a hacking laugh. Guess she knew who wore the pants in _that_ relationship. "Who the hell are you? Why did he send you?" Winter struggled to her feet, the bite marks throbbing and still bleeding, She pressed her hand against her neck, suppressing a shiver when her fingers came away stained an inky black.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Winter said, honest for once. "Who do you think sent me?"

"The man in my dream!" Luther hissed. "He said that you would come. He – he said not to kill you." Winter arched an eyebrow. Clearly, whatever the vampire had been seeing, it scared him. The stutter, the sudden pupil dilation, both were strong indicators of intense fear. But there was no way he could've meant her.

Well, there was the whole "black blood" issue to mull over, but Winter was sure she could find a logical explanation.

_But what if there isn't_? A sneaky little voice in the back of her head asked. _What if whatever is happening to you can't be rationalized or explained? What if you really are something..._other. Winter shook away those thoughts, turning her attention back to the vampire that was deciding whether or not to kill her.

"He said to take care of you...but what makes you so special?" Luther asked, his voice trembling as his eyes searched her face.

"How do you know that it's her?" Kate asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This could be just some kind of coincidence."

"He said to protect the girl who's blood tasted dead and ran black." Winter felt herself go cold at his words. _Whose blood tasted dead_. Dead man's blood was poison to vampires. Was her own blood the same? But why _now_? She'd gotten banged up before and she bled as red as anyone else. She'd been shot dozens of times and nothing like this had happened. Dead man's blood. Dead blood. Black blood. Demons bled black, she knew with sudden certainty. Demons. Demons' blood was poison to vampires as well. Blood. Blood. _Bloodbloodbloodblood._

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with pain like before, outside the post-office. She screamed, falling to the ground and clutching her head. This time the burning was mental as well as physical. She could smell something burning before realizing with a start that it was the fabric of her black tank-top. Luther grabbed Winter, spinning her around and ripping off her leather jacket, revealing the twisted design burned right though her top.

"That's how I know," Luther said, tracing the design with his finger. Winter realized with a start that it had grown. It was now up to the base of her neck, blossoming there. "Who are you?" Luther demanded, jabbing his finger into the burn. Winter groaned, biting her lip to keep from crying out from the pain. "Why does he want you safe?"

"Mary Anderson." Winter lied quickly. "And I don't know!"

"Luther, man, we're starving over here!" Bo complained loudly from the other room.

"Take the man for yourselves." Luther said. "And lock this one up with the others." He shoved Winter into Bo's arms and the vampire grinned maliciously. "Bo. She is not to be touched." Bo grumbled under his breath but did as he was told, shoving Winter into a cage with three or four other humans, all tied and gagged, all bleeding.

"No funny business." Bo said, slamming his fist against the door. "Or I might accidentally forget Luther's orders." He grinned. "You know, I _love_ tequila."

"Screw you, bloodsucker."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd love to." Winter rolled her eyes at the pathetic comeback, turning her back to the vampire until she could hear his footsteps echoing away from the cage. The other humans in the cage backed away from her when they saw the black blood drying on her hands and from the bites on her neck and shoulder, not to mention the evil-looking mark on her back, now fully exposed, but Winter couldn't bring herself to care. She had work to do, pain or no.

"Do any of you have a hair pin?" she asked the women. Not one of them replied, just looked at her with scared looks on their faces. "Oh, quit your sniveling." Winter said harshly, her eyes flashing. "Hairpin. Bobby-pin. Anything. Come on." Finally, one woman nodded, reaching her hand into her hair and pulling out two bobby pins. Winter nodded her thanks, quietly beginning to work on the lock. It wasn't easy and it would take time, but Winter knew that she could do it.

Six hours later and she still hadn't gotten the damn thing open. It was well into the morning now, and the vampires were all asleep.

But that didn't mean that they wouldn't wake up.

Winter froze when she heard footsteps entering the barn. Clearly they were trying to be subtle, but failing miserably. And she knew the two kings of trying and failing subtlety. And their father.

"Dean." Winter hissed, seeing the elder Winchester making his way toward the cage. "Dean!"

"Winter?" he said softly, his eyes searching for her. "Dammit, why did you run off like that? Sam nearly had a meltdown."

"You were worried too." Winter said immediately, reading his face like a book. "You need to get these people out of here."

"What about you?"

"Not important. Break the lock and get them out!" Winter's head snapped to the side as a piercing scream wrenched through the relative silence of the barn. The woman. They'd began to turn her last night. Dammit, Winter should've warned the boys.

"Get out!" she shouted. Dean broke the lock on the cage and grabbed her arm, pulling her out into the open. "No!" she pushed him away. "They won't hurt me, just get the Colt and run!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Dean insisted, trying to pull her along, but the vampires were awake now.

"Boys, run!" John's voice came from the other room. Seemingly on instinct, Dean took off, stopping dead when he realized that he'd begun to leave Winter.

"Go!" she urged, not fighting back when Luther wrenched her arms behind her back, his teeth close to her neck. Pain flashed in Dean's eyes but he took off anyway.

"You bitch," Luther snarled in her ear. Winter smirked to herself before something smashed into her head and she fell into darkness.

* * *

"We gotta go back." Dean said once they were a safe distance away. John assured them that the vampires wouldn't follow until night fell.

"We will, but first, we need to find a funeral home." John said. Dean and Sam looked at each-other, confused, but neither questioned their father, both falling into old habits.

"Dude, we've got to go back." Dean insisted in a whisper when their father wasn't within earshot.

"We've got to find Winter, too, man." Sam said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala.

"That's what I'm talking about! They've got her, the bloodsuckers."

"You saw her?" Sam said sharply. "And you _left_ her there?"

"I didn't have a choice." Dean said, hating himself for leaving her. She was a pain in the ass, but there was something about Winter that made him want to protect her. "She said that they wouldn't hurt her."

"Bullshit." Sam growled.

"I know. But tonight," Dean said, a plan forming. "Dad goes for the gun. We go for the girl."

* * *

**Review and tell me what you think!**

**~Fae**


	7. Chapter 7

They had their orders. Raid the nest and get out.

"But what do you mean she said that they wouldn't hurt her?" Sam asked for the millionth time.

"Dammit, Sammy, I don't know! But she was sure of it. She'll be back at the nest."

"What I don't understand is how she got Lila to let her go." The jaguar was in the back of the Impala, and as far as the boys could tell, pissed as hell. Her fur was sticking straight up and she would snarl for no good reason on occasion. She'd gone missing the same time that Winter had, finally showing up around midday.

"Oh, you've started to call it by its name. That's not creepy." Dean joked.

"And you wonder why she doesn't like you."

"She's Winter's pet! Winter hates everybody, ergo, so should her creepy little monster." Lila hissed at him from the back, snapping her teeth together. Dean growled back at her, but both of them were silent on the rest of the ride to the old barn.

Sam crept inside, skirting around the edges of the room while Dean made quick work of the vampire standing guard.

"Dean, check the cage," Sam said, going to look in the other rooms for himself.

"Dammit!" Dean swore. "She's not here. Those bloodsucking sons of bitches must've known that we were going to come looking for her."

"Come on. We've got to go warn Dad."

* * *

Winter woke quickly this time and tried to sit up, but strong hands held her down.

"Luther she's awake." One of the vampires Winter didn't know said.

"Good. Get her out of the car." The vampire gathered Winter into his arms, tossing her around as if she weighed less than a rag doll. She didn't bother struggling. She was too weak right now, and they were just too damn strong period. Winter quickly analyzed her surroundings, trying to figure a way out. Luther had the Colt in his back pocket – this had to be some kind of exchange. Kate was missing – ah. The Colt for the girlfriend. But Winter knew that John had no love for her – he just met her and would put his sons and the hunt for the demon above her life in a heartbeat, she knew that without a doubt.

"Hey, Mr. Winchester," Winter said, her lips turned up into a smile, as limp in the vampire's arms as Kate was in Papa Winchester's.

"Shut up," Luther snapped at her, backhanding Winter across the face. Clearly his anger over Kate's capture overpowered his fear of whatever figure was in his dreams. He carefully put the Colt on the ground as John ordered and backed away.

"What, you don't want your girl back?"

"She doesn't mean anything to me."

"Cold-blooded. That was a nice move. It almost worked, too." Luther said, smiling.

"He's right, you know," Winter chimed in. "John!" she shouted, seeing Kate work her hands free of their bonds. But it was too late. Kate smashed her fists against John's mouth and then there was chaos. The vampire holding Winter held back, keeping her in a choke-hold so she couldn't escape and try to help John.

He didn't need her help. Out of the darkness of the forest flew an arrow, straight into the heart of the vampire who was holding her. Another followed, then another, each finding their mark. Winter grinned eagerly, untangling herself from the vampire's arms and looking for her rescuers. Sam and Dean leaped into the fray, Dean staying back to fire some more arrows while Sam charged in blindly.

"Sam!" Winter shouted, but Luther already knocked him to the ground. Dean grabbed for the machete Sam had dropped, but Luther already had his forearm against Sam's throat, choking him.

"I'll break his neck." Luther promised. Winter snarled, the sound echoed by something in the woods.

Lila.

Winter knew that Dean wouldn't risk his brother. That didn't mean that she wouldn't. In an instant, a plan formed. She met John's eye and he nodded.

"Feeling a little slow, Luther?" Winter taunted. "You're not on point. Granted," she said, waving an airy hand. "You could still probably kill him no problem." Winter ignored Sam's soft, choked noises, and Dean's growl in protest, continuing. "But you don't look so good. What? Someone slip you dead man's blood recently?"

"You bitch..." Luther said darkly. "Now he's going to die."

"Yeah, or not. _Lila_!" Winter yelled and the jaguar pounced, knocking Luther to the ground so fast and so hard that Sam had a second – just a split-second – to scramble out of reach.

"Why can't you people just leave us alone?" Luther snarled. "And you!" he said, looking at Winter. "He said you'd kill me. But don't you want to know who he is to _you_? I can see the resemblance. He's your – " The word died on Luther's lips as a single shot rang out and he stopped dead.

Literally. The bullet left a spiderweb of a bullet-hole and he said no more, blood running out of his mouth.

"No!" Winter hissed. No. Who was the man in the vampire's dreams and what was he to her? She had to find out. "Why did you do that?"

"He had to die." John said simply.

"He was going to tell me something!" Winter said quietly, her voice ringing with fury.

"Never trust what they say. They're animals, monsters."

"It was _important_!" Winter insisted, crying out when the pain lanced up her back again, tearing through skin and bone and playing havoc with her nerves. She gritted her teeth angrily. She was getting damn _tired of this_.

"Winter." Sam said, catching her before she could fall. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Fine, fine, don't worry about me."

"Is this..." he gaped when he saw the burn. "Is this a _brand_?"

"Yes," Winter said, rolling with it. "They branded me. A power-play thing, after they bit me." Sam's face contorted with rage and Winter knew that had been the wrong thing to say. Whatever. Once she gave a damn about social graces, she'd hold a press conference. "And I swear to God, Sam, if you ask if I'm okay again, I'm going to break that perfect little nose of yours. Now, move."

"Winter – " She didn't hesitate; she didn't blink. She just whipped her gun out of the waistband of her pants and stuck it between his eyes.

"I said: _move_." Winter said, deadly quiet. Sam stiffened, backing away slowly, his hands raised. "Don't follow me." Winter kept her gun targeting Sam as she mounted her bike – the vampires had brought to their little showdown – and kicked up the kickstand, roaring down the road, her wintry hair streaming out behind her like silver ribbons.

_Ashiha_. Winter shook her head, eyes going wide. That was impossible. She couldn't be hearing tings. She'd left the Winchesters and their obsessed demon-hunting behind miles back. Winter loved a challenge, but ever since she'd run in with them, things had begun to tailspin. She couldn't handle the sudden rush of just plain weird. She'd always been a freak, but there was logic. There was fact. She could explain it. She couldn't explain the sudden rushes of knowledge, or the burn that seemed to be growing every time her mind assimilated something new.

And now hearing things? Winter shuddered. She'd hit her limit. _Ashiha. _Winter winced, hearing the Arabic-sounding word again. Lila, keeping pace beside the racing motorcycle, hissed, sensing her mistress's distress. Which was impressive in itself, Winter noted, her thoughts detached, considering that she was going ninety.

"Shut up!" she shouted, her words snatched away by the wind. Acting on a wild impulse, she turned the bike sharply, screaming down the exit ramp and speeding into the nearest town. With the engine growling in protest, Winter turned into the parking lot of the first bar she saw.

"Stay here, baby," she cooed to Lila. The jaguar yawned lazily, shrinking back into a kitten and nestling herself beside the Harley. Winter looked determinedly forward, heading into the bar.

Time to forget.

Time to get smashed.

"Uh, little lady, are you sure you're old enough to be here?" the bartender asked, wiping out a glass with a rag. Winter eyed him coolly, her icy gaze sharp and intense.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said coldly. "And here I thought you wanted my business. Fine. I'll just go spend my money at the next sleazy bar down the road."

"Hey, hold on. You got an ID?" Winter scowled, but passed over a motorcycle license that said that she was twenty-two. The bartender grunted. "What'll you have?"

"Vodka on the rocks, on me." A man said, coming up behind her. The bartender shrugged and went to make the drink. Winter didn't even bother looking at the man who was going to pay for her illegal alcohol. "Hey, don't be like that."

"I would apologize," Winter said, examining her fingernails. "But that's not my style." Her eyes cut to the man. "Still want to buy me that drink?"

He grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth. "Absolutely. Never apologize for who you are, I always say." The man passed over her drink and Winter accepted it, nodding her approval.

"Cheers," she said, downing the vodka without reservation. Her lips twitched upwards as the liquid burned through her veins before her eyes snapped open, feeling something sting in the side of her arm. "What the hell do you think that you're doing?" Winter snarled.

"Showing you who you are," the man said with a wink, his pupils expanding until they swallowed the iris whole. Winter jerked to her feet, sending the bar-stool she'd been sitting on flying.

"You." Winter said sharply, standing and pulling her gun.

"Not the one you're thinking of, although she says hi," the demon said, not bothered at all by staring down the barrel of a gun.

"My demon was a man." Winter snapped.

"Ah, yes, but the gender of the demon has nothing to do with the meat containing it," the demon said. "Do me a favor, love," he said, leaning in. "Try not to leave everything in one piece." The demon winked again and then he was gone. Vanished, into thin air.

"Dammit!" Winter snarled, slapping her fist against the bar, blinking when it cracked cleanly into two pieces. She cocked her head, looking at the broken marble like it had sprung from nowhere, before glancing down at her own hands. They didn't look any different. Same unmarked pale skin, same long fingers and oval-shaped nails. But she'd just cracked a marble counter-top by hitting it – and not even that hard. "Hm. Interesting." Winter's head snapped up, hearing the familiar sound of a shotgun pumping.

"Get out of my bar, freak," the bartender said, pointing the gun at her.

"Now." Winter said coolly, looking up at her from under silver lashes. "That's not very nice at all." Then she shot him. Three times in the head.

Smiling.

* * *

**Please review and tell me your thoughts!**

**~Fae**


	8. Chapter 8

"Police!" Winter whipped around as another voice rose over the screams of the bar's patrons. "Put your hands in the air."

"Don't point that at me," Winter said in a voice that was not her own, striding over to the officer, her hand wrapped around his throat as she lifted him high into the air. Images flooded into her mind: a rinky-dink motel room, bottles of whiskey littering the floor. A wife and children long gone. Winter knew without a doubt that these were facts about this man, memories and regrets. She smiled unpleasantly at the officer. "So many regrets," she purred. "But you brought it all on yourself, didn't you? Skimming money from the precinct and spending it all on booze. Losing your family because of your own weakness." Winter tsked, shaking her head, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "It's a shame."

"Please," the officer choked, turning blue. "Please!"

"Sorry. You got pity. But no mercy. Thank you for playing." The man screamed as Winter tossed him across the room, his neck snapping on impact. She twirled, her arms thrown wide, laughing delightedly as the walls of the bar were blasted apart. She clapped her hands together, smiling like a child at Christmas. What fun! Winter turned as a feral snarl snapped her out of her euphoria. Lila stood, crouched on the splintered wood of the bar's fallen walls, her fur sticking up and her teeth bared. Winter snarled right back, crouching down, her arms positioned behind her, ready for a fight.

Lila roared again and Winter smiled, anticipating the coming bloodshed, eager for it. She leaped forward – then stopped dead. She'd seen her reflection in the jaguar's eyes. She'd been told her entire life that her eyes were disconcerting, the way they cut through a person. Disconcerting, yes, but always _human_. They weren't now. They were black, the iris swallowed whole, with only a single speck of white in the center, maybe what remained of the pupil. Winter recoiled and the black began to recede, leaving her gasping. She looked around at the destruction she'd wrought with new eyes – her own eyes.

"Dammit, girl, what did I do?" Winter didn't feel right. Everything was spinning around her and she couldn't see straight. Lila make a small yelping noise, nuzzling against Winter's arm. Fighting against the sudden weakness, Winter surged to her feet, digging through the rubble until she found the syringe that the demon had stuck her with. There was still some inside. With shaking hands, Winter tipped the vial over, catching a drop of the black liquid within on her finger.

Lila hissed as Winter fell to the ground, convulsing violently. Fire and blood danced before her eyes. Pain and sin, agony and destruction. She could hear flesh sizzling, the screams of millions. She screamed along with them, pressing her hands to her temples, but it didn't stop. Winter choked, unable to breathe through the pain, coughing up blood.

Then nothing.

* * *

_Ashiha. Ashiha, wake up. _Winter's eyes snapped open. She didn't recognize where she was. A room. An all gray room. Her mind kicked into high-gear, seeing everything around her. Four walls, no exit, not even a hidden one. Twelve feet long, maybe twenty feet across. Claustrophobic didn't even begin to cover it.

_Ashiha. _There is was again. Same voice, same word. But Winter recognized it as a name now, now just some word she didn't know.

"Yes?" she said aloud, her voice aloof.

_Atta girl. You showed extreme promise today. _Winter's lip curled as she remembered what she'd done. Destroyed the bar. Killed two men inside like it was easy.

And she'd enjoyed it, too. Winter shoved those thoughts into the back of her mind, pushing them into a file and password-sealing it.

"Promise." Winter spat the word. "I killed innocent people." Criminals she didn't have an issue with, but those civilians didn't have to die. "Who are you? What did that demon do to me? And what the hell is on the back of my neck?"

_Always so many questions. I am someone close to you, Ashiha. But you'll figure that out soon enough. And those people were by no means innocent. The officer was an adulterer and the barman __was a thief. You did Heaven a favor. And the demon showed you who you really are, the mark is proof of that. _

"That's not who I am," Winter snarled at the empty room.

_Oh, Ashiha, don't kid yourself. You're a sociopath. And sociopaths are the demons of humanity. No remorse, no empathy. You were made for Hell._

"I am not a demon," Winter said firmly, not sure of who she was trying to convince, the voice or herself. "And my name is Winter."

_Pardon me. It's an appellation. No disrespect meant._

"But the demon blood. When I touched it..."

_You saw Hell. And not the nicer parts of it, either. Your ability is unique._

"I don't want it." Winter spat. She saw far too much without any sort of supernatural boost. "I don't want any of it. The blood's effect on me...is it permanent?" Winter hated that she was the one without the answers. She _hated_ it.

_That is still unclear. _Dammit. Winter paced. She didn't want unclear, she wanted answers! _Oh, my Ashiha, my time grows short. Goodbye_

* * *

Winter opened her eyes to white walls. And the steady beeping of a heart-rate monitor. She was in a hospital. Another hospital. Winter lifted herself up, curious to find that she couldn't. Handcuffed to the cot. Classic. A police officer was sitting in a stuffed chair in the corner of the room, watching her, a pile of her things sitting next to him. Lila was nowhere to be found. Winter assumed that she had hidden. The state of her Harley was still unclear. Probably impounded, unfortunately.

"Young lady," the policeman said when he saw that she was awake. "Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're in?"

"Clearly not the bad kind because they hired a rent-a-cop to watch me sleep. Well done on that, by the way."

"You killed two people."

"Allegdly." Winter reminded. "You have no proof. What, you found me passed out? I could've been drunk." Winter's eyes went to her things as a familiar ring sounded off. Her ring. Though who might be calling her was a mystery. Not many people had her number. "Mind passing me my phone?" she asked. "I'd do it myself, but..." she rattled the handcuffs for effect. Th police officer just glared at her. "Give me," Winter said again, her voice taking on a dangerous quality, "the phone." The policeman shuddered, nodding suddenly and rifled through her things before he grabbed the cell out of the pocket of her jacket. Her guns were nowhere in sight. Winter hoped that Lila had gotten them away without shooting herself.

"Hello?"

"Winter, it's Sam." He sounded worried, breathless.

"How did you get my number?" Winter replied flatly.

"Because I swiped your name card!" she heard Dean crow triumphantly in the background. "A-ha!"

"What's wrong?" Winter said immediately. Sam was worried about something, clearly, and Dean was acting more standoffish than usual. Plus, she'd clearly given then the message that she didn't want to run with them anymore, and now they were calling her. Something had to be wrong. "What did you three morons do?"

"My dad went to the demons," Sam said after a long pause. "He went to bargain with Meg, give her the Colt."

"Meg?"

"A demon we've run into before."

"And let me guess: he's not back. You think that he's in trouble and you want me to find him." Winter rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I'm a little tied up at the moment. I'm sure your dad's fine and you're just overreacting."

"Winter, I'm sorry that my dad shot the vampire before he had the chance to tell you whatever you wanted to hear, but he's in danger, I know it. Please."

"You can handle it." Winter said, cutting off the call. "Now, I suggest that you leave. I'm going to change."

"You're not going anywhere," the officer replied immediately.

"Leave." Winter repeated, bothered that the voice coming from her lips was the same as the one from the bar, but not enough to stop. That voice got results – as long as she was controlling it, and not it her. The policeman started, looking terrified, before rushing out of the hospital room like the hounds of hell were chasing him. Winter smirked, then mentally berated her own stupidity. She was still chained to the cot. Growling in frustration, Winter yanked on the chain, shocked to see it snap easily. She lifted herself up, snatching her hands back when the metal bars on each side of the cot bent beneath her fingers. What the hell was going _on_? As delicately as she could, Winter changed into her old gear, finding everything intact except for her guns. Even her notebook was left untouched, though, if they'd read it, the police probably thought she was a mental patient with all she'd written about demon and vampires and werewolves. With ever new thing that she learned, Winter made sure to update her leather-bound book. She couldn't trust her mind. Not now. But written fact she could trust.

Winter stowed out of the room, her plan to go unnoticed put off a touch when she slammed the door so hard, it splintered into pieces.

"Hey, stop!" the officers at the end of the hall shouted, sprinting towards her. Winter didn't wait to make any smart-ass remarks, she just ran, throwing people – literally – out of her way that tried to stop her. She burst through the doors of the hospital, breaking them clean off of their hinges without missing a beat. Winter didn't stop. She just kept on running, faster than she ever had before. She didn't get tired, she didn't need to stop, she just ran.

And she knew where she needed to go. One of the nurses she'd ran into had put her hand on Winter's arm and their skin had touched. Winter's mind buzzed, trying not to absorb anything but what she needed. And what she needed was a layout of the town.

But she didn't get far. Police cars screamed from behind her. She had to take a detour.

"Follow me, girl!" Winter shouted, winging a right and hopping the fence into a local amusement park. It was a dingy kind of place, but it might work for losing the cops. She now understood why she was such a big deal. A cop-killer, even an alleged one, was going to bring the whole might of the police force down on their heads. Which was _so_ inconvenient right about now. The cops leaped out of their cars, following her as she raced through the park. But it was small and there were too many of them. Winter made it to the edge of the park before they cornered her at a roller coaster. There was nowhere to go.

But up.

Winter jumped over the chain-link fence with an "employees only" sign on it. Lila had disappeared – a jaguar would just be pushing things a touch too far – and Winter didn't waste any time before reaching for the ladder that lead to the first and highest hill on the coaster. They started to snap under her grip and Winter had to jump from one rung to another, leaping to keep the ladder from breaking. She reached the top, grinning at the sheer dizziness of the height. It had to be at least one-hundred feet up. She had never seen anything more clearly before in her life. Always quick to observe and make correct assumptions, but that was nothing on whatever had jump-started her brain now. Winter knew exactly how high up she was. She knew how many officers were below and from what units by their formation and the police jargon they were muttering to one another. She knew that if she jumped, she would die.

It was the most amazing feeling in the entire world.

"Come down from there!" an officer shouted from below.

"Come up and get me!" Winter called, her head snapping to the side when she heard the rumble of the track moving. Her exit. As the car came to the it's peak – no one aboard – Winter jumped, landing on the hood. She didn't strap in, she just crouched down and let gravity take over, launching herself out of the park when the coaster was about to make it's first loop.

Winter landed on the ground hard. Hard enough that it should've killed her. Or, at the very least, broken both of her legs. But she was fine. Full of energy, in fact. Winter sprang to her feet, running full-tilt towards the police station. With one kick, the wooden door to the lot where her bike was being stored shattered.

Whatever the hell was going on with her, it had its advantages.

Winter's Harley screamed out of the lot, the engine roaring like a beast into battle. Sam was right, something was going on. Something big and something very, very bad. The burning on the back of her neck that crawled up to the side of her face confirmed it. She had to figure this out.

But she had to save the Winchesters first.

* * *

**So what do we think, my darlings?**

**~Fae**


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